Kahalu'u vs the Kailua Kona Pier

    On consecutive days this week I went swimming at Kahalu'u and the pier with dramatically different results.  

   Tuesday morning we made it down to Kahalu'u.   It was a pleasant morning and the tide was high.  Getting in was better than it has been for several years, as sand has filled in a path on the shelter side of the so-called sand channel.  Despite a modest chop, there was fairly little current.  And the water was warm; Yasuko, my sole Japanese friend in the whole world reported it at 82 degrees.  I thought it might have been warmer than that. Kenichi wa!

A keiki Rectangular Triggerfish assures the species survival!

   The good news stopped there.  The water was persistently cloudy throughout the bay.  And the variety of fish was depressing.  The sole good news was cleaner wrasse.  I saw two pairs, and over by the rescue shelter an intermediate, who was morphing from the plain blue lined juvenile to a colorful adult.  She escaped before I could get a picture.  

   And we saw a legion of Rectangular Triggerfish.  Triggerfish seem to be taking the dying coral situation better than some other species.  Wouldn't it be a drag if the state fish became extinct?  No humu humu for youmu youmu!

    The news ashore was better.  Our friend Yasuko was there, telling us about a recent trip to Osaka.  In the Land of the Rising Sun she was shocked by warm weather...80 degrees, in October... just like the water in K Bay.  And there's a new girl, friendly, well spoken, and willing to listen to geriatric snorkelers talk about the good old days.  I showed her my picture of squids and she told me that a few weeks back they had a pair of breeding octopi.  Her name is Haley (like the comet) and perhaps we will see more of her in these pages as the season progresses.

                           🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

     The next day we went down to the pier.   Wednesday is cruise ship day and the cruisers were there.  But the showers and changing rooms remain behind danger tape, so there were still very few swimmers and space was plentiful on the cubbies.  

A Teardrop Pair, Kailua Pier 2016

   The water was cool and super clear.  And there were fish!   We added the Oval Butterfly, such a prosaic name for a fish that seems to possess an inner lantern that creates that central golden glow, and Teardrop Butterfly.  

    Additionally I saw a Sandwich Island Filefish.  This species, identified by the white spot on the dorsal portion of the caudal peduncle, used to be common, but has become less so.  And amazingly, unless I am mistaken, I have yet to see the more prosaic Barred Filefish, which should be super common.  

   Finally we added Lagoon Triggerfish.  As beautiful as ever!

    Best of all, out by the penultimate swim buoy, I saw a Leatherback.  This is a very streamlined member of the Jack family that we see only occasionally.  Not as rare as squid, but something one might see only a couple times a year.  As I'm only going to be here for five months, and I don't snorkel as often as I did, this is probably the only one for 2024.  This was a fine specimen, almost two feet long. and he was a fine bronzy silver torpedo.  The hallmark of this sleek fish its cute little dorsal fin the size of your pinkie.  It has a white base and a black tip.  So as this wonderful fish swam by me, not in any great hurry (they never seem to stop when they are on patrol) that little, flag-like dorsal made him unmistakable.

Lagoon Triggerfish, Kailua Pier 2024

   I doubt I will ever get a picture of this fish, as in every instance it is here and gone.  So I'm going to burden you with this picture from the internet.  The fish I saw was bigger and better, less silver and more bronze, but at least this will give you an idea.

   I couldn't swim on the far side of the swim buoys with the tenders shuttling in and out with their shore going cruisers.  I got right up to the line and did not see any squid lurking out there in no man's land.

    Ashore, I was approached by some of the cruisers.  One was a lady from Upstate New York who wondered if it was safe to walk down to the sand.  Being a gentleman, I watched her shoes while she exposed her tootsies to the ocean.  She allowed that, by virtue of signing up for a daily excursion, this might be the only time she got her feet wet on her trip to Hawaii.  

The Leatherjacket

    While I was rinsing off with the bottle of water I had brought with me from home, an older couple stopped me and asked if there was a better beach nearby than the tiny strip where we enter on the Ironman side.  I showed them how they could walk around the visitor center / closed dressing rooms and showers and achieve the lovely beach in front of the King Kam.  And as I finished dressing, I spied them through the web of danger tape, pointing at that lovely strand that apparently the cruise company wants to keep a secret, the better to get people on a bus and away from the water.  

     Its wet, you know...you might melt!

jeff

   

Squid! Or a return to the Sandwich Islands

     About a week ago, perhaps longer, we returned to Kona.  In this time we have been doing a bunch of gardening and home repairs; we have a toilet disassembled in the Ohana waiting for a gasket from Amazon. 

Asian Swallowtail, Kona November 2024

     It's hard to hang out in Hawaii and not see butterflies.  Although we have yet to go for a walk with a net, we have seen the three bigger butterflies, Asian Swallowtail, Gulf Frit and Monarch close up many times.  Initially this was quite a treat as we came from a place where there are no butterflies in November.  One day in our garden a nice Asian Swallowtail and my phone camera came together to create the nice picture you see here.

    Driving around, we have seen lots of small, pale-yellow butterflies, which I presume are sleepies.  And some really small butterflies wihich must be skippers.  Gotta take that walk with the net and some vegetable bags.

    There was lots to do and it wasn't until today that I got off my duff and went snorkeling.   We have been getting high wind weather alerts, but the morning was clear and still.  Sandra dropped me off at the pier, which was uncommonly deserted.  I chose the pier because it is clearly the most forgiving place to swim here in Kona and I hadn't donned a mask and fins in over seven months. 

Finescale Triggerfish, Paul Allen's Reef, 2014

     The water was cool and clear, just like a refreshing beverage, and I was excited to see what was around.  Immediately I saw a small linckia starfish in the sand.  There were a few butterflies and the usual surgeons on the way out.  Finally in the coral past the last swim buoy I spotted a Finescale Triggerfish.  This ghost of a trigger is not exactly rare, but uncommon enough inshore to merit a mention.  

   So as I made the turn for home, I allowed that I had seen some stuff and I was wondering if that little starfish was going to turn into the best invertebrate for the swim.  The Body Glove with a deck full of tourists pulled out and I decided to swim back on the outside of the swim buoys.  

   Near the third swim buoy I got a delightful surprise...three Bigfin Squid hanging out doing whatever they do.    Which is to say, they seem curious enough but you never see them feeding or anything else of a purposeful nature.  Unless you count them keeping an eye on you with those saucer-like peepers and swimming backwards out of spearing range, the better not to make the transition to calamari.  Mostly though, like the Dude, the squid abide.  

Bigfin Squid courtesy of the Monterey Aquarium

  So I imagine you are wondering why I'm showing you a picture of the squid lifted from the internet as opposed to some fantastic pictures taken this morning.  Well, over the last week we have been taking note of the things we didn't bring to Hawaii.  Forgotten in a box back in Vancouver are both sets of our binoculars.  In another box is the disc reader that would permit me to transfer pictures from the water camera to the computer.  Shazbatt!

    Needless to say, I spent ten minutes with these friendly little cephalopods, photographing them from every angle and even taking a small movie that I'm sure you will enjoy in a week or so, when Jeff Bezos sends me a new disc reader.  

Give a squid a beverage and call him Jeffrey Lebowski.

   Two of the trio hung together.  One was slightly larger than the other.  The larger was possibly 14 inches in length, They were opalescent with brown blotches.  The third guy was smaller and more of a rich brown.  And while the duo mostly swam with their tentacle stretched out as in the picture, this guy liked to hold his tentacles down in front of his face.  It made it look like he had a silly brown beard.  

    Supposedly this camera will transmit pictures to a cell phone, but this involves steps like downloading the correct program to deal with the pictures and then a QR code to link it all up somehow.  I spent a couple hours trying to make it work , even enduring a condescending lecture on QR codes from our daughter.  Her parting advice was to find a helpful teenager. 

     It's possible that I deserve this, after all, against my will I have turned into an old fart.  But I can still go swimming and it's just possible that I can replace a toilet gasket.   Stay tuned and I'll let you know on that one in a couple weeks.

jeff

PS.  At the end of my swim I discovered that the showers and changing rooms at the foot of the pier are closed.  There was a rumor of a sewage leak.  This explains why there were so few recreational swimmers!   If you are going for the squid, you might pretend you are headed for  Ho'okena and bring a bottle of water to wash off and a sarong for changing. 

The End of Summer in the Oregon Alps or an Hydaspe Surprise

Bob Hillis sets a high bar.

     It was the first day of the Labor Day Weekend.  The 2024 college football season would kick off in less than 24 hours, and it was a bright blue morning at Timberline Lodge. 

    Butterfly season was winding down.  On our last outing, to Dougan Falls, Sandra and I met a pleasant trio from the State of Washington Department of Ecology (who knew that such an organization even existed?) that were examining the water quality in the upper Washougal.  While it may have been amusing to watch an attractive biologist slip into her hip waders, the butterflying was far from exciting.  

    Our friend, Bob Hillis, had tempted us back into the field with a picture of Milbert's Tortoiseshell, which he encountered recently at 11,000 feet in southern Utah.  If Bob could see Milbert's (possibly my most wanted butterfly) why couldn't we see something good late in the season?  We were hoping for a Red Admiral and expecting, at the least, Lorquin's Admiral.  Instead, we saw a few tiny, orange Woodland Skippers, Que triste! 

    Luckily, hope springs eternal and Sandra and I were delighted to take this late summer jaunt up to Mt. Hood. I had taken a quick trip to the car to fine tune our butterflying equipment and when I returned, Sandra had made friends with a couple from New Zealand.   They regaled us with stories of Sirocco, the famous kakapo.  Kākāpō are giant flightless parrots of renowned skill, sometimes referred to as owl faced parrots.  In the wild they are nocturnal. Sirocco was raised by hand and is virtually the national mascot.  Apparently he is easy to see, but his wild brethren have been much reduced in numbers and are, as previously stated, nocturnal.  So good luck seeing one of them.  

California Tortoiseshell, Tumalo Falls June 2024

    Sandra and I finished our coffee, applied our sun screen and bid our Kiwi friends a fond farewell.  They, in turn, wished us good luck with the butterflies, At that moment, I was sure that we needed all the good luck we could get. 

    Outside, despite being only 9:30, the sun was up, the sky was blue, and it was already warm.  We took the main trail up the hill from the lodge.  It climbed steeply and then turned west.  A sign noted that we were on the Pacific Crest Trail.  This trail was well trod with ankle high barriers and signs to keep on the trail.   After fifty yards we came to a crossroads.  The PCT continued west with seemingly little change in elevation.  Like the hill-topping butterflies, we wanted to go up.  And so we turned right onto a wide path that paralleled the ski lift.  Our new trail was wider, perhaps it would be accessible to an ATV associated with ski lift repair.   Best of all, this steeply climbing road had no barriers to prevent us from wandering.  

Boiduval's Blue, Deschutes Puddle Party, May 2023

 

   We climbed another 150 vertical feet and decided to take a rest.  One can over do this mountain climbing stuff.  Sandra found a rock that was both shaded and sufficiently comfortable. Left to my own devices (my sweetie had claimed the best rock) I crawled up the bank and perched on a spruce root that was retaining the soil.  At this point I decided, in a most self serving way, to hunt butterflies the way Rollo Kuse hunted deer.  

    Sandra's father, Rollo, was famous for his success in dispatching Bambi on an annual basis.  The best story involves him arriving in front of Sandra's dorm at Chippewa State with Bambi draped over and secured to the hood of his station wagon and honking madly until all the young lovelies came to admire the fruits of his hunting prowess.  

    The bottom line is that Rollo knew how to hunt in a way that my pater familias certainly did not.  My dad would arm my brother and me with shotguns while he carried a 30.06.  We would walk in a semi-stealthy fashion through some second growth alders for 45 minutes and, surprise, surprise, not see a fucking thing.  Rollo, on the other hand, would find a deer trail and sit quietly for as long as it took Bambi to wander by.  

This Butterfly Has Flown

    So, as I sat on my shaded perch, with a great view of a small meadow of asters and such, I took heart in the notion that I was not being lazy.  I was being smart.  Like Rollo!  I had a great view of the flies and bees that were working the wildflowers, which only three or four hundred feet higher than the lodge were far less baked.  We waited for a while, and I was in the final ten minutes of what my patience would tolerate when suddenly here came a butterfly making his way up hill.  I called to Sandra as the butterfly flew behind her, she turned and got a pretty good look at a California Tortoiseshell. 

   Well, this got me off my duff and we both traipsed around for a bit.  But like the bird in Norwegian Wood, this butterfly had flown.  We had both seen the medium sized orange insect, though, and we were not skunked.  God bless Rollo Kuse, wherever he is.  Presumably waiting for Bambi in St Peter's Wood.   

   Heading down the hill we encountered another butterfly on it's way up.  This was a medium sized yellow butterfly that circled for a while, getting quite close to both of us but never landing.  And never finding his way into my net.  As he flew by, I could make out the black dorsal wing linings, making this an Orange Sulfur Butterfly.  

    Robert Pyle tells us that "This is the most abundant butterfly in the high cascades in the fall, often seen moving up mountain roads..."  Sounds like Bob has it pegged.

Hydaspe Fritillary, Alpine Campground, Labor Day 2024

    We wanted to continue down the ski lift path, but at the intersection with the Pacific Crest Trail it became even steeper and appeared to terminate at the ski lift hut.  And so we turned back onto the PCT.  Here we encountered many hikers and their children and their dogs.  We also became reacquainted with the fences keeping us on the trail.  And the signs warning us to behave...or else.   A short piece down the trail we spotted several larger blues in the abundant white wildflowers.  

    We took turns with the binoculars, getting pretty good looks.  We were unwilling to step over the trail guards though, so we couldn't get a chance at netting one.  The female nearest to us was quite dark ventrally.  Several males were fitting around about twenty yards down the hill and it was easy to appreciate their gray blue surfaces.  Most likely these were Boiduval's Blues.

    Named for a famous Frenchie, who sat in his Ivory Tower in Paris naming the species that he received specimens from our hero, Pierre Lorquin, Boisduval's Blue is possibly the most common blue in the Pacific Northwest.  It is slightly larger than most other blues, is found in a variety of habitats and appears later in the season at higher elevations..  The picture you see here was taken at a dirt boat launch on the Deschutes near Maupin, Or. in the spring of last year.  Also present were Sagebrush Checkerspot, ,Coronis Fritillary. and Oregon Swallowtail.  With a gathering so auspicious, I trust they were drinking something better that plain old mud filtered water.  A Willamette Valley pinot, perhaps?

    One might easily think that three species for the morning was three more than we had a right to expect. So we were pretty happy as we descended 500 feet to Alpine Campground.  Immediately as we arrived we saw dark medium sized butterflies in flight.  It took a while to track one down, but I got my first on the far side of the highway, on the gated dirt road leading to a meadow.  A quick look at my catch and I knew it was our new best friend, an Hydaspe Frit.  

   Caitlin had said that this was our most common frit, but until this year Sandra and I had hardly seen one.  We encountered them in the vicinity of the Washougal in June and July and now here they were in great numbers at 5,400 feet.  Pyle and LaBar agree that it is found from lowlands in late spring to hill topping mountains later in the season.  Cait is apparently unavailable; perhaps she is out tormenting the butterflies of Montana.  When she gets back I'm sure she will tell us if it is surprising that we saw this butterfly in great numbers at Alpine Campground.  Look at our pictures taken back at the ranch.  In addition to some diagnostic ventral views, this guy gave as a great look at his dorsal pattern , as well.

    We were lucky to have such a day near the end of the butterfly season.  Football season is now upon us.  So raise a glass of something delicious and give us a Go Huskies! 

jeff

Anna's Blue to the Rescue

The Original Snorkelkids ca 2009

      It was coming up to the middle of August and the Butterfly Buddies (we used to be the Snorkelkids) were jonesing for one more lep to add to the summer's list.  We called on Auntie Cait, the Queen of Kelso, and all she had was head east of Mount Hood and look for a Golden Chinquapin in whose branches you might find the Golden Hairstreak.  But don't hold your breath; "its a difficult butterfly to locate."

Fifteen years later on Mount Hood

     As you know, I'm not a botanist.  If I had any confidence that I could tell a Golden Chinquapin from a Golden Goose, we would have been down in Eugene in early July looking for California Sister.  Suffice it to say, the Sister remains safely on the wish list.  Stay tuned next June when we search out muddy boat launches on the Rogue River where my children tell me those little devils run rampant. 

     So, with that exceedingly faint bit of encouragement, we got out on the road and headed for altitude.  By 8:30 on Monday morning we were sitting in front of the coffee urn at Timberline Lodge.  Through the window we could see cavorting Pine Siskins and some very streaky finches,   The bird guides convince me that it is a fool's errand to identify fall finches, Cassin's , Purple and House.   There were a few fat ground squirrels filling their cheek pouches with the alpine bounty, for the wildflowers uphill from the lodge were still thriving.  

   Sandra and I walked uphill and as we returned, we met a gentleman from Portugal, of all places.  We took some pictures of him with the mountain and he took about a dozen pictures for us.  It was warm, sunny and delightful.  

Ana's Blue, Timberline Mount Hood, August 2024

   One might have thought that we would proceed to see all sorts of butterflies.  But this was not to be.  We descended to Alpine Campground and walked back and forth for a couple hours, seeing nothing in the way of butterflies.  I explored across the street and found a gated dirt road that led to a delightful meadow where there were bees, but no butterflies. 

   A little after noon we had had enough of all this nothing.  While Sandra worked on a crossword puzzle, I took my net and crossed the street, walking back into that meadow.  Finally, I looked in the correct spot and there was a tiny female blue.  At first she was open and I could see her brown dorsum.  She then closed her wings revealing tiny black spots.    Luck was with me and I netted the little dear.  Back at the car, Sandra transferred her to the vegetable bag.  Through the bag we got a look at a tiny butterfly, white below with some exceedingly tiny black spots and  grayish brown on the dorsum. We saw no dorsal  distinguishing marks.  

Anna's Meadow, across the from Alpine NFS

   After a futile trip around the mountain to Mount Hood meadows, where the day had turned cold and windy, we went home.

    It takes about an hour to chill a butterfly and by late afternoon we were able to position her on the stick and get some pictures.  My opinion is that if we had not resorted to this extreme protocol, obtaining really good pictures of the ventral wings, we would not have been able to identify her.  Certainly prior to the photography we did not notice those delicate orange chevrons.   Of course, we were not the ones to do the identification...the best of our pictures was emailed to Caitlin, with the admonition that when I saw the dorsal surfaces up on the mountain I saw no orange.  

    Cait got back to us right away, saying:

Anna's Blue :)   The ones we have here are mostly brown with only a hint of orange,  less than most other butterflies that have it.

   We then repaired to the book, Pyle and LaBar, Butterflies of the Pacific Northwest.  Here we found that Anna's Blue lives in cool boreal forests above 3,000 feet all the way up to bare rock and ice above timber line.  The male is blue above with no orange and the female is mole-brown (as compared to dry leaf brown) with a hint of orange in the aurorae.  

    The butterfly then spent the night in our inside refrigerator.  This is the warmer of the two;  ice forms around the beer cans in the garage refrigerator and so it is used, vis a vis butterflies, for short periods and in only the most demanding circumstances.   

Anna's female, courtesy of Pyle and LaBar.

    So Tuesday morning we took the butterfly out and placed her under a stemless wineglass, hoping that she would unfold her wings so we could look for that orange aurora.  We waited for twenty minutes and then impatience ruled the day.  We shuffled the glass around, making the butterfly flip open for an instant.  This was too fast for our geriatric eyes, so we took a few movies.  I can now state, with the benefit of cell phone videography, that when a little butterfly flips her wings they are exposed for a mere fraction of  a second.  Not long enough, even with the most dexterous pausing, to get anything but a blurry look at her wings.  In the best blurry view, assuming I was so disposed, I could imagine a hint of orange.

   Now a hint of orange is something you might expect in a tequila sunrise.  I'm showing you the picture my guru uses in her book of the female Anna's dorsum.  Although that is less orange than you might find in Acmon's or Melissa's, its more than a hint of orange.. think maybe a screwdriver.  

    But as with many northwest butterflies.it comes down to subspecies.  In the book, we count 20 species of Pacific Northwest blue butterflies that have orange in the females dorsal wing.  Bob Pyle says, "few in our area (sub species P.anna ricei ) have orange in the aurora, unlike the subspecies found in California.  I guess the Anna's you find on Mount Shasta prefer screwdrivers.  

    When we saw the little butterfly above Timberline Lodge three weeks ago, it was almost certainly an Anna's.  Cait included Anna's in her speculation along with Silvery and Boiduval's.  Now we can all be sure that this unusual alpine butterfly is up at Timberline, which remains fertile territory for butterfly discoveries.

jeff

    

 

   

Summer on the Washougal or the Great Spangled Frit

       It's truly summertime here in the Pacific Northwest.   Forest fires are raging and Mt. Hood rises like a hazy ghost east of Portland.  But with the full force of the season comes the chance to see butterflies that don't emerge until summer.  When you think about the butterfly's imperative, to emerge, breed, insure a new generation,  it makes you wonder why evolution would favor such a late start. 

 

     Nevertheless, there are a few butterflies that don't emerge until August.  One of these late risers, the Great Spangled Fritillary, is one of our best butterflies.  This assumes that you like big orange beauties.  I do.  And I'll bet you do, as well.

Hydspe Frit female august 2024 Washougal River

    It had been three weeks since we last went to Dougan Falls and the Upper Washougal.  In the interim we had been to a couple other butterfly spots, installed a butterfly exhibit in the Camas Library and gone north to see Jeff Dunham and his politically incorrect puppets.  

     On Wednesday we got an early start and were all the way to Timber Creek by 10:30.  Unfortunately our tire pressure alarm illuminated and chimed at 10:29.  We circled the BOT-mobile in the parking area by the dry creek.  Radial tires, right?  They always look like they might be flat.  Sandra and I made the decision not to go further, eschewing the steep climb  on a narrow gravel road and headed back down.  

    Half a mile before the weedy car park Sandra spotted a large orange butterfly on the side of the road.  Here we encountered a male Great spangled Frit that held still long enough for the picture you see here.  Additionally. there were a few really small orange skippers, roughly the size and color of some small berries dotting a broad leafed shrub.  Following the photo, the frit left and did not return.  the small skippers persisted, though and after a few unsuccessful swipes, we finally caught one.

Hydspe Frit female, ventral August 2024

    With our tiny skipper safely stowed, we made it to our favorite weedy car park.  Over the last few months I have been cultivating a patch of thistles, removing the morning glory vines that threatened to choke off these valuable plants.  It was immediately apparent that my efforts had paid off.  Several big orange butterflies were nectaring on the thistles.  We had the opportunity to take a couple videos and a few more pictures.  In one video you can see the frit extending his proboscis repeatedly in to the flower.  There were so many opportunities that it was not too difficult to catch one of them. 

    This was not the only interesting butterfly.  We caught another tiny insect that we were sure was the tail end of the mylitta crescents.  But the coup de grâce was a medium sized frit that perched on a weed near the car.  A stealthy approach resulted in the capture of a hydaspe frit.  Sandra has become an excellent butterfly handler and we got the pictures you see here.  We were sure that this was a hydaspe and Caitlin reported that it was a female.  Her book says females are more yellowish, but perhaps it was the way she bugged out her eyes that gave it away.  

Great Spangled Fritillary, August 2024, Washougal River

    We endeavour to take as few as we can, and so, after these pictures were taken, she was released.  As she flew up into the woods she was heard to say, "Don't forget to take out the garbage!"  Yet another clue as to her gender.  

    With our charges safely ensconced, we made it to the nearest Costco tire station.  There, Sandra supervised the attendant who gave each tire a small dosage, but diagnosed the problem as a false alarm.  Meanwhile, I bought a Costco chicken, so the trip was not a total loss.

    Back at the ranch, we had three participants duly awaiting their turn in the refrigerator.  The frit was called upon first.  He emerged from his quarters in beautiful condition, as you can see.  This species is unusual in that the female is dramatically different, with a brown and white dorsal coat, so there was no doubt that this, and all the big orange butterflies we saw were males.

    Sandra took him outside where he immediately took to the skies.  He landed in the building across the street, which is a remarkable habitat, in that numerous unusual species have been recorded there.    

Woodland Skipper, August, 2024

      Next was the little skipper.  He cooperated long enough for us to get a wings up ventral picture and then, as so many of our butterflies do, made a bee line for the window.  The picture you see was taken on the window sill.  Lucky for him, he let Sandra nab him and he was released outside.

    We have struggled with these orange-ish skippers.  Caitlin declared this to be a woodland skipper.  One would hope that this Identification was made on morphological exam.  But I believe that it was made primarily on local knowledge of the season and location.  Little orange and brow bugs...what can you do.  Probably someone is catching one of them and examining the genitalia. 

   Last but not least came or natty crescent.  Its sort of interesting to note that this species was an early spring butterfly and reemerged as a second generation a month ago.  This fellow was clearly late in his life.  

A natty male Mylitta Crescent, Washougal River, August 2024

    like the skipper, he permitted a ventral view photo and then dashed for the window..  Sandra caught him once as he ascended the pane, brought him down and I got this quick picture between the vanes of the Venetian blinds before he headed up again.

    The next day I was able to show him to my grandson, now in a more tractable state.  Was there an object lesson here?  Allow yourself to be caught and you will be released outside to play.  Persistent defiance and you end up a drying husk in the window well.  

   And on that happy note, we wish you a good summer and many beautiful butterflies,

jeff     

Hoffmann's Checkerspot and a Cup at Timberline

 

The most scenic cup of coffee in Oregon

    This week we had reservations to stay at the Paradise Lodge on Mt. Rainier.    Unfortunately, the reservation didn't make it onto our calendar and other things got scheduled for dates that made this trip a bit more than we could handle.  So Paradise got cancelled and we looked for a replacement that would fit into the revised schedule.  If you live anywhere near Portland, Mt. Hood is an appealing alpine alternative.  From the standpoint of the naturalist, it can not begin to compare with Mt. Rainier National Park, but its accessibility makes it reasonable second best.  

     Timberline Lodge on M. Hood is less than an hour and a half from our condo in Vancouver and with an early start we made it well before 9 AM.   It was still too chilly for butterflies so we repaired to the lounge surrounding a huge fireplace for a cup of coffee.  This is a pretty choice location for coffee, with a spectacular view of the mountain peeking over the urns. 

Wildflowers, Crossbills and the Mountain

   While we were sipping, we noticed some birds in the trees on the slope above the lodge. I went back to the car and retrieved our binoculars.  In short order we were up hill among the wildflowers.  There were many varieties in glorious bloom.  If only I was a better botanist.  When we finally found the birds they were Red Crossbills.  What a treat! 

   After our walk, we drove down to Alpine campground, about a half a mile below the lodge.  The lodge sits at 6,000 feet elevation and the campground at 5,400. We drove in, parked and were immediately accosted by the camp host.  In its wisdom, Mt Hood National Forest has made Aline Campground a non-Day Use area; if we were to remain parked in the campground, Deputy Dog would have to charge us a camping fee.  However, he did give us permission to park outside the gate and walk in. 

   Once we got the car parked, I grabbed my net and walked through the gate.  Immediately a small dark checkerspot flew past and lit on a flower beside the road.  I deftly netted him off the flower and he was soon in a vegetable bag in our insulated bag, known in our family for  a generous benefactor as the Kimmy Bag.  In the process I enjoyed a brief look at a beautiful little butterfly, his orange and white spots against the glossy black gleaming in the morning sun.  

Hoffman's Checkerspot, Alpine, Mt Hood,  July 2024

   Although this seemed to be  a harbinger of good things to come, the butterflying was slow.  I took a walk and saw one more checkerspot at a distance.  While I was gone, Sandra saw four and successfully netted one.  She was holding it in the net when I returned from my walk.  It is our policy to take only one of a species, so this colorful little fellow got a reprieve.  As you will see, we probably should have taken a better look at these captured butterflies before making rash decisions.

    After a quick lunch, we went back up to Timberline.  There we walked the slope where a few spruce trees were interspersed with a variety of wildflowers.  My intuition told me that these wildflowers should equal butterflies.  But this was not the case.  We found one tiny blue that eluded my net and one tiny moth for Daniel Rubinoff, And that was it.   

    Back down at Alpine, Sandra decided to stay in the air conditioned car while I took a scout.  I found a pair of light orange butterflies, the color of the Gulf Frits we have in Hawaii, doing a pas de deux on a grassy slope, cleared by tree cutting.  There were stumps and branches for me to deal with as I chased the butterflies up and down this mountain slope. Eventually I stalked one of these recalcitrants  as he lit on the end of a cut spruce.  I got so close that my net was right next to the butterfly, who was opening and closing his wings in the most tantalizing fashion.  As I was only four feet away from the butterfly, I got a great look. The hind wing was pearly gray with silvery spots outlined delicately in black.  I swooped, but my net ran into dead branches and on exam contained some tiny twigs but no butterfly.  Rats!

    The experts agree that this was a pair of Coronis Frits.  Mercifully we saw this butterfly and took a very good picture at Mt Rainer two years ago.  I'm including that picture here.

    We capped off the day at about 4,000 feet with Sandra doing her crosswords while I took a quick hike at the Snow Bunny sledding park.  I was hoping for a Green Comma or a California Tortoiseshell.  Instead I got one quick look at a very dark frit on the trail leading to the sledding slope.  My single swipe as he shot by was totally without hope.    The experts agree that this was probably an Hydaspe Frit.  And luckily we already have one documented for our list.   

    And so we took our tiny moth and the checkerspot back to the ranch.  When we got home, the checkerspot was somewhat the worse for the experience.  There were two blue ices in the bottom of the Kimmy bag and we were lucky that he survived his spell in the cooler.  Not only that, but we had put him in a used bag.  Heaven knows what it had been used for.  From the look of the butterfly it may have been used to apply a coat of bread crumbs to fried chicken.  Suffice it to say, we have replaced all our bags with unused bags, "The better to see you with my dear."

the better to see you with, my dear!

    These two spots on Mt. Hood are apparently not checked by any other lepidopterists. Deputy Dog reported seeing some guys collecting bumble bees a week earlier, but did not mention anyone looking for butterflies.  Caitlin was pleased to identify our butterfly as a Hoffmann's Checkerspot female.  There  is a fair amount of sexual dimorphism, with all the white on the female being replaced by orange on the male.  She went on to say that they can be found in Reecer Canyon north of Ellensburg.  She didn't mention the quality of the coffee at Reecer Lodge! 

 

   

 

  

Mormonia and the Common Wood Nymph...a Trout Lake Odyssey

Zerene Fritillary, Peterson Prairie,  August 2022

         Recently a good friend noted, that since he didn't have an expert to verify his butterfly sightings,  it was likely that his butterfly list was larger than it might be otherwise.   Sandra and I are lucky, blessed with an expert, Caitlin LaBar, who seems happy to look at our pictures and correct our mis-identifications.   This occasionally results in a change in identification and a species remaining unseen and unclaimed.  On the other hand, Cait is always ready to give us an idea about where to look for something special,  so it more than balances out.

      In the past, I was always a bit peeved when someone asked me to identify a bird they had seen.  Bird field guides have been readily available for me my entire life and should enable anyone with half a brain to identify most of their own birds.  Butterflies are clearly different.  Even renowned lepidopterists who visit Western Washington to see new butterflies submit some of their pictures to a local expert (like Cait or her senior author , Robert Pyle).

    I didn't always see things this way and two years ago I was still attempting to make my own butterfly identifications and add these species to our list.  Last week I got to looking at my pictures from two years ago, when we visited Cait's secret spot 15 miles west of Trout Lake, Wa. On that day she had provided us with copious instructions that would lead, she said, to two difficult fritillaries.  zerene and mormonia,  We took lots of pictures in the field and caught one frit and brought it home for better pictures, something we now do routinely.  But we didn't send our expert the picture.  Instead we sent her field notes, as if we were dealing with birds. 

Zerene Fritillary dorsal, August 2022

      I labeled the photo  Mormon Frit perhaps because I really wanted it to be so.   After all, like Dorothy arriving at Oz, we felt entitled.  "We've come such a long way.  He'll have to see us!"  

    There were two dorsal pictures in the file, as well.  Medium sized orange butterflies with ornate black markings and a heavy black diaper band along the edge. I'm including these two photos at the start of this blog. 

  A few days ago,  I looked at the picture, looked at the book, and decided I had made a mistake.  Luckily, in a recent correspondence Cait had told us that because of early rains, the mormonia was present at the prairie and zerene had yet to emerge.  Poor  Sandra was loaded into the car and off we went, willy nilly up the Columbia.  We made the turn up the White Salmon and twenty miles later we were looking at Mount Adams through a haze of smoke.  This was enough to make one wonder just where the forest fire was and shouldn't we have been aware of this before we set out?   

Common wood Nymph, Peterson Prairie, July 2024

    Soon we were through the tiny village of Trout Lake and heading west out of town, on the home stretch for Peterson Prairie.  

    We arrived at the intersection that borders Peterson Prairie  just before 11 AM.  This is an interesting crossroads.  To the right, one is directed to Custus Indian Campground and the Huckleberry Fields.  Straight ahead is the Big Lava Flow and Mill A.  And tucked in the woods , twenty yards off the road, is a small shelter made from rough hewn logs with a floor of flagstones.  Inside you find a map of the area and a commemoration: the Peterson Prairie Information Hut was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1939 using the materials of that era.  If it bears a miniature resemblance to Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, this is not a coincidence.  It was created by the same people two years after completion of that iconic structure.   Why the CCC chose to locate this rustic gem in such an out of the way location is a mystery.

Mormon Fritillary, Peterson Prairie, July 2024

     As it turns out, Peterson Prairie is roughly the same elevation as the spot where we found the Hydaspe Fritillary only a week or so earlier, 2000 feet.  If you drove from the headwaters of the Washougal to Peterson Prairie it might take two and a half hours.  Its a long ways down, across and back up again.  But these sites are both in Skamania County and may be less than thirty miles apart.  However, if you drew a straight line between the two  and found a determined sasquatch, it might take him two full days to make that hike! Its rough country. 

     As we exited the BOT-mobile, the sky was blue and the forest air an invigorating 68 degrees.  Its a short walk through the moist woods to the meadow.  Out on the prairie we first saw several dark butterflies, the color of French Roast coffee.  We knew these butterflies from two years earlier... the oddly named Common Wood Nymph.  I mean, wouldn't you expect a wood nymph to live in the woods?  The fact is, they live near the woods but they are highly tied to grasses, where their green caterpillars make green chrysalises.  They should be called meadow nymphs.   There were plenty of  these Prairie Flappers and Sandra netted one in short order.  We transferred the dear to a bag which we left in the lone scrubby shrub out in the meadow.  He could contemplate his situation while we hunted frits.  

Mormon Fritillary, Peterson Prairie July 2024

    Obviously, the picture we are showing you was not taken on the prairie, but rather outside the front door of our condo in Vancouver.  Regardless of location, it is an excellent demonstration of the spots that determine the identification of the species. Its difficult to coax the butterfly to drop the hind wing so you get a good look at both spots.  Suffice it to say, the spots are the same size and this is a Common Wood Nymph.  True to its name, it is the species that we see commonly in our area.   On the other hand, although in previous years we have seen single individuals on the Deschutes and the Metolius, this is the first one we have seen this year. Perhaps it should be called the Uncommon Wood Nymph,   Peterson Prairie in mid-summer being the one exception.   

   Over the next 45 minutes Sandra and I chased little orange butterflies across the meadow.  These were fast moving butterflies and adept at avoiding capture when settled in the short grass.  They were impossible to photograph in the wild. Sandra is more of a stalker (gotta get her one of those Sherlock Holmes Butterfly-stalker hats), but she came up empty time and again.  Eventually I caught one on the wing and my sweetie deftly transferred him to a bag.  

Mount Adams as seen from Trout Lake, Wa.

    Talk about hit and run.  We enjoyed a small lunch in the car and then headed back out.  We stopped on the outskirts of Trout Lake for a classic Mount Adams picture.  The smoke had diminished so it's a pretty nice shot.  Curiously, there are no lodgings on this side of TL from which one might arise in the morning, pour himself a cup of coffee and gaze out upon this incredible alpine scene.  

   The pictures taken back at the ranch met with Caitlin's approval and the Mormon Fritillary is safely and verifiably on our list.  As for the sasquatch, he may be safe, too.  Its rough country.

jeff

     

The author trains his sasquatch for the cross country trek.

The Clodius Parnassian

                                                           The Clodius Parnassian    

 

The Clodius Parnassian is easily one of our favorite butterflies.  First, it is perhaps the most prevalent butterfly in southwest Washington that I was totally unaware of until we started watching the little devils six years ago.   I can't believe I missed it.  Unlike the blues, this is not a small butterfly.  It flops about in its dingy, white way that is hard to miss. And, with its fuzzy yellow body and handsome claret spots, it brings enough beauty to the table to merit one's attention.

Check out the proboscis on this hose hound

   Couple that with its staying power.  In the previous blog we stated that many butterflies cycle as a cohort.  They may appear for three weeks and not be seen again until the next year, or at an interval separated by months.  Obviously there are some species that defy this pattern.   Our parnassian is at the forefront of this group.  It appears in mid-spring and here it is, still the most prevalent butterfly on the Washougal in mid-summer. We see it earliest in the day and in the greatest numbers even after lunch. 

A Clodius nectars on Tara's cosmos.

    Not only that, but this butterfly occurs in neighborhoods, not just out in the wilder areas less traveled by the casual observer.  Here is a Clodius in nectaring on cosmos in my son's front yard in early August of 2023. 

    Finally we come to taxonomy.  Parnassians and Swallowtails are traditionally placed as a group at the head of the list by academic lepidopterists.  To my eye, this is so unexpected (I mean, does the clodius look anything like a tiger swallowtail?... I don't think so!) that I wonder if this was decided by DNA analysis.  Who, for example, would have thought that Zinfandel was in reality Primitivo?  But, no.  Somehow the pundits have placed the parnassians and he swallowtails in the same family, Papilionidae, for a long time. 

 

The yellow body indicates a female.

    So the Clodius Parnassian is first on the list, first in the spring and first in our hearts.  All of which is my long-winded way of introducing a limerick inspired by the beloved SKG as we meandered up the Washougal two weeks ago.  Enjoy at your own discretion.  

  The Clodius Parnassian

 My sweetie was determined to fashian,

a new name for the Clodius Parnassian.

She took a lady's spot of pleasure,

And a rich rapper's treasure,

And came up with Clitoris Kardasian!

    Parnassians are named for Mount Parnassus in Greece, the Home of the Gods.  And we all know what a bawdy group those Greek Gods were!

jeff
                                    

The Washougal in July and the Hydaspe Frit

    It was the very middle of July.  The Pacific Northwest had just endured its first scorching of the year, temperatures in three digits for three consecutive days.  But now we were in a cooler patch, with this day's high expected in the low 80s.  The evidence of the heat was everywhere, with the roadside weeds a toasty brown, and but a few fresh blossoms surviving at the top of the foxglove, which predominates on the upper Washougal. 

Snowberry Checkerspot, Upper Washougal, July 2024

   The water in Timber Creek, where Sandra and I had stopped for our second look for butterflies, was now a memory.  There had been a trickle two weeks earlier.  Now the creek bed a was a lush green, but there wasn't even a hint of a surviving pool and no moist mud for a thirsty frit.  And fritillaries were the order of the day.

 

     Before heading out, I had emailed Caitlin LaBar, who indulges me way more than I deserve.  I asked our guru whether she thought Mount Hood or our local spot on the Washougal would be a better choice for butterflies on this day.  She replied that it was a little early for the mountain and that she had been to the tree farm the day before and seen checkerspots and Hydaspe Fritillary; we should see both near Dougan Falls.

Hydaspe Frit dorsal,  Upper Washougal, July 2024

   Hydaspe Frit had been a buggaboo for me.  I knew that Cait regarded it as the most common greater fritillary in our area, but I had never seen it here.  In fact, we claimed it on the basis of a difficult look last august on Mount Hood.  We really wanted this butterfly. 

    In the past, I had always thought summer began on the day school let out, sometime in the first week of June.  Of course, this is a bureaucratic decision, presumably based on the agricultural needs of the early  20th Century.  Over the past few years, I have been learning that the calendar employed by butterflies is substantially different than that used by the educators of SW Washington.  In this instance, we had yet to see Lorquin's Admiral or the Snowberry Checkerspot.  Both of these butterflies overwinter in the chrysalis and emerge when the time is right.  Can I call this the first day of summer?

    As we waited at Timber Creek, a bit before 11 AM,  more butterflies started to emerge.  The Clodius Parnassians,  a species that persists for well over three weeks, had been fluttering around since we arrived a bit after 10, but suddenly we wee seeing checkerspots.  Sandra netted one and I photographed a couple others.  

Hydaspe Frit ventral , Upper Washougal, July 2024

    We weren't seeing any other species and so we decided to drive further.  This involved driving up a steep three miles on the narrow gravel road.  We arrived at a three way intersection at about 2000 feet elevation.  

    You didn't need to be Margaret Mead to recognize that the natives use this wide spot in the Cascade foothillls for activities other than lepidoptery.   A large fire pit surrounded by crushed beer cans and spent shotgun shells was just off the center of this wide spot in the road.  

   But up here, a thousand feet higher than our go to spot at Timber Creek, the wildflowers were fresh and look!  There goes a larger orange butterfly!   Schmoopie and I were out in a trice, nets in hand.  Sandra had the first whack at a potential subject that settled in the road.  She missed, but shortly thereafter I netted one on the wing.  A quick look led us to believe that we had captured our first Hydaspe frit.  

The Washougal in July burbles below the weedy car park

    We did not get any pictures of this handsome butterfly in the field, but here are our pictures from the lab.  We have been seeing Western Meadow Fritillary for months, but this was our first experience with a Speyeria frit for this year.  We sent the pictures to Caitlin who confirmed our ID and sent along a 😊 to confirm her approval. 

    Before leaving this alpine paradise we walked around the perimeter and got a good look at the season's first Lorquin's Admiral.  Perhaps we should make the effort to climb up to this spot more often.

   With two subjects safely ensconced in the back seat we drove carefully down the hill and on to the weedy car park hard by the now diminished Washougal River.  At this unassuming but productive spot we encountered more checkerspots.  In addition, I spotted a few tiny orange butterflies.  These guys were smaller than blues...a truly tiny butterfly.   I caught one and coaxed Sandra from the car to put it into a bag.    Three was our limit and we headed home. 

 

Here is a video of these little butterflies in the car park.  They have been identified by our expert as Mylitta Crescents.   As you may recall, we saw this butterfly a couple months ago, so this represents a second cycle for this handsome, if excessively diminutive, species here in SW Washington.   And down below we have a nice still taken of a female from the same spot in the middle of May, exactly three months earlier.

A female Mylitta Crescent, May 16, 2024, Weedy Car park

  So how does a butterfly, snug in his chrysalis, know that it is time to emerge.  This is the species imperative:   For many species every individual must emerge simultaneously and get busy creating the next generation of butterflies.  Those adults are only going to live for three weeks, so it is critical that they all emerge at once.  Of course, this is not universally the case.  We should see Lorquin's Admiral virtually every time out until the middle of September.  But the checkerspot and many of the fritillaries are absolutely under this time constraint.  If a Snowberry Checkerspot breaks out of his chrysalis three weeks too late, he will have missed his chance.  Natural selection over millions of years has perfected this mechanism, whatever it may be.

     I reached out to Caitlin, who knows almost everything about butterflies and she stated confidently that it was a function of temperature and humidity.  These are parameters that I recorded in 1968 when I was working at a fire fighting station on the Columbia River.   Mostly this job involved creating fire breaks with a hoedag.  But to our modern mind, the simple physical elements of temperature and humidity seem a short step away from manual labor.  If a high schooler 50 years ago could understand it, there must be something wrong.  Furthermore, it doesn't explain how a first generation crescent emerges in chilly May and a second generation accomplishes the same miracle in July, when any sensible butterfly would be looking for an air conditioned movie theater.

     And so I sought a second opinion from Daniel Rubinoff;.  Perhaps a real professor of the butterfly and moth sciences could put a more scientific face on the problem. Something a man of the new millennium could get behind.  Unfortunately, Daniel has fled his ivory tower in Manoa to look for moths (which are really his passion) elsewhere.  His machine promises that he will get back to us in five days.

    In the meantime, I'm putting my money on a host plant releasing pheromones that summon the butterfly, his lepidopteran pollinator, from his cozy chrysalis.  

    Yeah!  Pheromones!  That's the ticket!

jeff